


Never Saw It Coming

by AveryWinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Black Woman/White Man, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Blade, Fluff, Graphic Violence, Interracial Relationship, Kidnapping, moc!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-03-03 19:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13348164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AveryWinchester/pseuds/AveryWinchester
Summary: Tori Clayton had a past relationship with Dean Winchester. Their relationship fell apart and Dean left. 16 years later Tori would need help from the last person she wanted when their son is kidnapped by demons. But the thing is Dean doesn’t know he’s her son’s father.





	1. Chapter 1

**(gif not mine)**

 

A yawn escaped her lips, as she walked into her home. She rolled her eyes, a pounding headache forming at the muffled sound of heavy metal music coming from an upstairs room. She didn’t want to argue today. She really didn’t. Taking a calming breath, she proceeded to pull her nude colored pumps off of her aching, swelling feet. She then nearly tripped on a pair of size eleven boots that were haphazardly thrown on the floor, in the middle of the foyer, causing her to let out a frustrated growl.

  
Just typical of him. So, _damn_ typical. Him being her hardheaded, stubborn, smart-mouthed, leaves his shit all over house, but yet unbelievably sweet sixteen year old son.

  
She wanted to scold him, wanted to ream him out for not listening, but she was way too exhausted from dealing with other people’s bullshit today, to even let out a peep. Maybe tomorrow, after a nice hot soak, takeout, and some good sleep. But first, she’d start her two day off from work vacation with a glass of wine.

  
Ripping off her blazer, she tossed it on the chair in the dining room, and her stocking covered feet dragged into the kitchen.

  
As she went to take a sip from her favorite bottle of merlot, she couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that suddenly creeped up her spine. She placed the glass on the counter, heading out of the kitchen.

  
“ _Dax_?!” She called out for her son, making her way through the hallway and up the stairs. She made a quick stop in her room to retrieve the silver blade she kept taped underneath the bedside table. “ _Dax_?!?” She called out again when she didn’t receive a response.

  
She wanted to believe so bad that her son was in his room, playing on that goddamned _x-station_ or _playbox_ that she wasted an entire paycheck on for his birthday last year. Oh how much she regretted it.

  
But something about it just didn’t feel right. Call it a Former Hunter’s Intuition.

  
She went to knock on her son’s bedroom door, realizing it was slight ajar. That was definitely not right. She had been arguing with her son since he became a teenager about locked bedroom doors. She had one house rule: _**until you’re eighteen and living on your own, absolutely no locked doors**_!

  
She walked into the room, as the blaring music smacked her in the face, and the smell of a rotten egg sandwich made her stomach turn. She walked over to his record player and turning it off. She expected him to turn around complaining about not knocking and turning off his music. But that never came. Her son was nowhere to be found.

  
She noticed that his tv was still on and that stupid game was on start mode. A half eaten peanut butter and banana sandwich and a glass of half drunk milk sat on his side table.

  
Panic set in her pit of her stomach.

  
“Dax!!” She called out in hopes that he was somewhere else in the house or that this was some cruel joke.

  
She then felt a chill in the air, and saw that his window was wide open, dark blue curtains blowing from the fall, night air. She quickly made her way over to the window, peering out, searching for any signs of her missing son.

  
Her fingers brushed against the window seal, feeling tiny grains beneath them. She looked down at them, looking apprehensively at the yellow dust on her fingertips. This was not what it was. It couldn’t be. She brought her fingertips to her nose, smelling them. Her heart dropped.

  
_Sulfur_.

  
She quickly ran out of her son’s room and back into her room, into her closet. She turned on the light, pushing her casual day clothes out of the way, coming upon a tiny door. She opened the door, searching through all of her old things from her former life as a hunter. Iron, bottles of holy water, a handgun with silver bullets, etc.

  
She finally found the box she was looking for, taking it out of the closet, back into her room, before dumping the contents on her bed. As she tried to hold back tears, she sorted through books and papers, until her hands brushed against a tan leather journal.

  
She hadn’t seen this thing in ages. She was surprised at how intact it still was after over a decade and a half of being locked away. She opened the journal, flipping through pages until she got to where she needed. Her brown eyes read the name, and her heart pounded.

  
**D. Winchester.**

  
She had no idea if this number would work. It’s been a little over sixteen years since she saw or even heard from him last. She really didn’t want to but she knew that he could be the only one to help.

  
Dialing the ten digit number, she finally released the tears that had been threatening to spill over.

  
To her surprise, it was ringing. But it kept ringing. And ringing. And ringing. It finally stopped ringing and went to voicemail.

  
“ _This is Dean Winchester. You know what to do_ …”

  
The sound of the beep and it was left for her to leave a voicemail.

  
“Hey, it’s me.” He doesn’t remember you idiot. “It’s Tori–uh Victoria… _Clayton_. I don’t know if you remember me or not. It’s been sixteen years.” She rambled, the tears flowing heavily from her eyes. “I, uh, I need your help. It’s about ou– _my_ son.” She sobbed, hanging up her phone and tossing it on her bed.


	2. Two

The next morning Dean Winchester parked his black 1967 Chevy Impala outside of a Gas n Sip, pumping gas.  He and his little brother, Sam, had just finished two back to back cases in Iowa.  A rugaru in Elkader, and then a vetala four and a half hours west in Sioux City.

Their bodies were bruised and battered, but they stopped to feed  _ Baby _ and to possibly feed themselves, before heading back to the bunker for at least a few days rest.

Dean’s moss colored eyes watched as his baby brother, plastic bag in hand, walked out of the gas station and over to his normal side of the car, shotgun.

“What did you get?”  Dean asked, hopping in the driver's seat.

“Uh, I got some apples, a few bananas that weren't completely rotted,” Sam rummaged through the plastic bag.

Dean rolled his eyes in annoyance.  “So basically you're telling me ya got crap?”   _ Note to self:  Find nearest 24 hour burger joint ASAP. _

“I got you pie.”  Sam pulled out a plastic container with a slice of  _ Homemade Peach Pie _ , the label read.  “Dean you should really read the ingredients on this.  I mean, look at all the chemicals.”

Again, Dean rolled his eyes, annoyed, snatching the container from his brother.  “No.  I read  _ pie _ .  Everything else is just  _ blah blah blah _ .”

Sam chuckled, looking down and seeing Dean’s cell phone light up on the seat.  “Uh, Dean, you got a message.”  He lifted the phone over to his brother.

Dean furrowed his eyebrows, taking the device from Sam.  He didn't recognize the number.

“Who is it?”

“I have no fucking clue.  It's a Nebraska area code.”  He placed the phone up to his ear to listen to the message.  As soon as he heard the sound of her voice on the other end, his stomach dropped and his heart began to beat rapidly in his chest.

Sam noticed his brother's change in demeanor.  “You ok?”

Dean held up his finger in Sam’s face before stepping out of the vehicle.  Once the message ended, he stared down at his phone in disbelief.  He hadn’t heard or spoken to her in over fifteen years. But she needed his help.  With her son?  She was a mother?

He sucked in a deep breath, contemplating on whether or not he should return her call.  Did he really want to open that Pandora’s Box?  To see her after all these years?

He remembered the last time he saw her face.  He could never forget it.  The way her smile that never reached her eyes.  Her beautiful, dark eyes full of disappointment and heartbreak.  Her smooth, buttery brown skin.  

He shook his head of those thoughts and immediately dialed that number.

She picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, Tori, it’s uh, it’s Dean…”

\--

“So, who was it?”  Sam questioned, he munched on an apple, as Dean stepped back into his car.

“Change of plans, Sammy.  We’re going to Nebraska.”

“For what?”

“A case.”

“Dean we just got done with two back to back cases.  I would like to shower and rest first before heading off for the next one.”

Dean rolled his eyes, annoyed.  “Ok, princess, I'll drop you off at the nearest motel where you can take a shower and get your beauty sleep.  But I'm going to Nebraska.”

“Shut up.”  Sam retorted, taking another bite of his apple.  “Just drive.”

\--

Tori sat impatiently in the small diner a few miles down the road from her home.  To say she was nervous and scared would be a complete understatement.  Every second she sat there, was every second her son could possibly be...

She quickly erased that thought from her mind, as she downed her fifth cup of coffee, wishing that it was bourbon instead.

The sound of the diner’s bell chimed, letting the patrons and staff know that someone had arrived.

Tori’s dark eyes scanned his boot clad feet, his bowed legs, flannel covered chest and torso, soft, pink lips, and those piercing green eyes.  Eyes that she could never forget.

Dean Winchester.

Former love of her life. And son’s father.

Of course he had no idea of that last part.

They were 19 years old when they first bumped into each other.  Both were on a werewolf case.  Dean was in over his head, and Tori saved his life.  After the hunt, they celebrated their victory over a cheap bottle of bourbon and awkward sex.

Three months later, a wendigo brought them back into each other's orbits.  And from there, they were inseparable.  

For nearly two years, Tori and Dean’s relationship was passionate, intense, and completely toxic.

They fought.  They loved.  They fought some more.

The final straw came about when Dean refused to fight for their relationship to go off with his dad, leaving Tori heartbroken and alone.

Now 16 years later, here she was, standing in the same room with the boy she loved who broke her heart.

“Hi, Dean.”  She swallowed hard.

“Tori.”  He gave her a small smirk and a curt nod.  “Tor, this is Sam.”  He turned to his little brother.  “Sam, this is Victoria.”

“Tori,” she corrected, reaching out to shake Sam’s hand.  “Stanford right?”

Sam chuckled, reciprocating the gesture.  “Not anymore.  Not for along time.”

She smiled, nodding at Sam and quickly glancing nervously at Dean.  “Shall we?”  She pointed to the table.

They all take a quick seat.

“So,” Dean cleared his throat, “you said that your son was kidnapped by a demon?”

Tori, avoiding eye contact with Dean, staring into her empty coffee cup.  “It appears so.  I asked some of my older connections, you know the ones that are still alive, to keep an eye out for anything.”

“Then why call me?”

Tori finally snapped her head up and looking at Dean.  “Because, even with those connections, they're not as capable.”

Dean licked his lips, trying to not let her words get to him.  “Alright, then let's go check your place out, and see what we can find.”

Tori just nodded, and Sam agreed.  

After Tori paid for her coffee, she and the brothers retreat from the diner.  Her heart sank into the pit of her stomach at the sight of the black gleaming paint of the chevy impala parked on the curb.  Every single memory she had of that car came flooding back to her.  She had spent many nights with Dean in that car.  Her best and worst memories involved this very car.

“I can’t believe you still have this car, Dean.”  Tori ran a soothing hand over the immaculate muscle car.

Dean nodded, leaning forward against the driver’s side, hands clasped on the roof.  “Yeah, she’s my baby.”

The two of them stood on either side of the car, awkwardly, while Sam watched from the sidelines.

Tori cleared her throat, finally coming back to reality, shoving her hands into her back pockets.  “Let’s go, shall we.”  She told the brothers, before stalking off to her 1970 cherry red Shelby GT500.

Sam then looked over at Dean, who looked back at Sam.  Dean just rolled his eyes at his little brother’s somewhat amused face and then hopped into the car himself.

\--

Tori, entered her son’s room, with Dean and Sam tagging along right behind her.  The room had been the same as Tori left it.  Game still on start mode.  Peanut butter and banana sandwich, with the glass of milk, still sitting on Dax’s desk.

“You smell that, Sammy?”  Dean questioned the moment he walked through the bedroom door.

Sam took in a whiff, walking further into the room.  “Yeah, that is sulfur all right.”

Tori still stood at the door, not wanting to go any further.  “Over by the window seal, is where I found it.”

Sam then nodded, making his way over.

Tori then watched Dean, cautiously, as he checked around the room for more clues.

“This him?”  Dean stopped and picked up a framed photo of Tori and her son on his last birthday.

Tori nodded, swallowing hard, wrapping her arms around her waist.  “Yeah, that’s him.”

Dean looked back down at the photo, not being able to shake the feeling he got in the pit of his stomach about this kid.  “Handsome kid.”

“Takes after his father.”  Tori said, this time purposefully avoiding eye contact with Dean.

“What his name?”  Dean asked, noticing that Tori wasn’t looking in his direction.

She hesitated for a second before choking out, “Dax.  His name is Dax.”

As soon as that name slipped from Tori’s mouth, Dean’s face paled and he swallowed the lump forming in the back of his throat.

“Hey, guys,” Sam interrupted the awkward pair, “I think I found something.”

Tori, still avoiding Dean’s eyes, walked over to where Sam was now standing by the window, holding it propped up.

“It looks like someone busted the lock on the window.”  Sam shook the broken lock for emphasis.  “Did anything else seem funny to you?  Any other broken locks?”

Tori looked up at the taller Winchester, shaking her head.  “No, all the locks in the house are fine.  But why would a demon break a lock?”

“Why do demons do anything at all?”  Dean grunted, still standing by the door.  “They’re dicks.  Sammy, hand me the light.”

Sam, on cue, threw Dean the flashlight that he held in his hand, and Dean caught it with precision.  Dean then flipped the light switch in the room, to complete darkness.  He then clicked the black light on the flashlight and dragged it across the back of the door.

“Yahtzee.”  Dean exclaimed, finding a faded sigil on the door.

“What the hell is that?”  Tori questioned, walking over to Dean, trying to get a better look it.

“Looks like some kind of sigil.”  Dean turned to his little brother.  “You recognize it?”

Sam stepped up to look closer, and shook his head.  “No.”  He then took his phone out of his back pocket and snapped a quick photo.  “I can research this, but you know what we’re gonna have to do, Dean?”

“Son of a bitch.”  Dean seethed, switching the light back on.  “Can we leave him out of this for once?”

Tori stood in between both brothers, eyeing the back and forth.  “Who are we talking about?”

“Dean just call him.”  Sam told Dean, completely ignoring Tori’s question.

Dean shook his head.  “I don’t wanna call him, you call him.”

“Call who?”  Tori questioned, just a little louder this time, but apparently she had become invisible to them.

“Dean…”

“Fine.”  Dean huffed, rolling his candy apple greens, before digging his cell out of his navy blue canvas jacket pocket.  He quickly hit the speed dial.  Within a few seconds, he hung up when no one picked up.  “He’s not answering.”

“Then we have to summon him.”  Sam stated simply, shoving his hands into his brown canvas jacket pockets.

“I don’t want him involved.”  Dean growled, shoving his phone back into his pockets.  “Not this time, Sam.”

“Dean,” Sam sighed frustrated, “he may know something about this.  He is the King of Hell after all.”

Tori stood taken aback.  The King of Hell?  What the fucking what?

“Hold up.”  Tori threw a hand up, between Sam and Dean, tired of being ignored in her own home.  “The King of what?  Hell?  What the hell is going on here?”

“I’ll go get the stuff.”  Sam quickly left Dean to explain what was just about to happen to a very confused Tori.

Dean glared at his little brother’s back, before turning and looking down into Tori’s concerned dark eyes.  “To put it simply, we’re summoning a demon.”

Now it was time for Tori to roll her eyes, folding across her arms across her chest.  “I figured that much.  But the King?”

“His name is Crowley,” Dean explained, “ and he’s fucking douche bag that’s what he is.  But, Sammy’s right.  Whatever the hell this thing is, he may know what it is.”

“Ok,” Tori smacked her teeth together, “so we’re not only are we summoning a demon, we’re summoning the king of hell?  To my house.”

Dean sighed heavily, looking back at her.  “He could help us find your son.”

Summoning demons?  She’d summon Lucifer himself to bring her son back, so she just had to put her faith in that boys were doing the right thing.  “Fine, lead the way.”  She pointed at the door, and they both walked out.

\--

The room was damp and dark.  Save for the lone spotlight over his head.  His head felt like he had been hit by a semi truck, and dragged twenty blocks.  His eyes tried adjusting to the light in the complete darkness.  He then tried to move his arms and legs, but found them restrained against the metal chair he was sitting in.

Then the panic started to set in.

“Help!  Help me!”

“Oh, would you stop your whining, please?  You’re giving me a headache.”

The boy her a voice, a feminine one, in the shadows of the darkness.

“Who’s there?”  He called out.  “Who are you?”

As he struggled against the restraints, a pale hand, with red manicured finger tips, grabbed his jaw with a force so strong it nearly crack.  His vision finally focused on a fiery red haired woman, who then leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“I am your worst nightmare, baby.”  She giggled, before letting the hold of his face go, and walking away, heels clicking.


End file.
